Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

shame, of error, of grace resisted, of privileges neglected, divine admonitions unheeded, of self-will, of self-confidence, pride, vanity, and I hope, of repentance, of submission, of humility, and of final forgiveness and reconciliation. What I am is known to Him who knoweth all, and if aught good, it is through his grace, not my merit. What I have been, I shudder to think, and yet must faithfully record, as the only atonement I can make for the past.

I was the only son of parents, who, if not distinguished for their wealth and fashion, were yet remarked for their high intellectual qualities, literary attainments, and social position. My mother was a woman of a lofty spirit, generous and noble sentiments, and tender affections. She loved her child, sought to cultivate his mind and heart, and to prepare him for a distinguished career in the world. My father was a clergyman, with some peculiarities, and, as it was generally said, eccentricities of doctrine and character. Yet he was a man of eminent ability, of stern integrity of character, of high and philanthropic aims, devoted to his calling, and faithful in the discharge of the duties of his sacred profession, according to his own understanding of them. The peculiar bent of his mind was speculative, and his preaching was of a philosophical cast. He had high notions of human ability, believed that man was endowed with all the natural and moral strength necessary to enable him to maintain a pure and consistent walk before God, to resist temptation, to avoid falling, and under all circumstances to maintain himself upright, and in his integrity. His great boast was, that he believed and preached a liberal and rational Christianity; that he had no respect for empty forms. and ceremonies, for creeds and confessions; and that he looked at a man's daily walk, not at the form of worship he adopted. "Men," said he, "are good under all forms of worship, and bad under all. It is the man's life that commends the creed and the worship, not the creed and the worship that commend the life. Show me what a man is and does, and I will ask you no questions concerning the doctrine he believes, or the church to which he belongs."

In these views he educated his only son. I was taught to be honest, to give every one his due, to speak the truth, to avoid whatever was indecorous or disreputable; to be mild, courteous, kind, -never to give way to any violent passion; but to be calm, collected, serious, high-minded, honorable, prudent, generous, and disinterested in my life and walk. This comprised the greater part of the moral and religious

instruction I received. In religion proper, however, I was taught that there is one Supreme Being, who has revealed himself in the works of nature, and, on various occasions, in the life and instructions of holy men of old, especially in the life and doctrine of Jesus of Nazareth, the greatest and best man that ever lived. By studying his example, as set forth by the Evangelists, by studying nature, and especially by consulting my own heart, and listening to its natural promptings, I could never fail to know what is my duty, and, knowing my duty, I of course should be equal to its performance.

From home I went to school, where I learned many things about natural objects, received some instructions about Greek and Roman history; but where a religious education and all allusion to the great distinguishing features of the Christian religion were carefully avoided, for fear of violating the law which prohibited the introduction of sectarianism. What religious instruction I did receive casually and indirectly tended to confirm the instructions I received from my father.

From the school I was sent to the academy, and from that to the university. I was required to study hard, and the professors did their best to make me an accomplished scholar. But in the university the same general religious theory predominated. We heard little of Christianity, but a great deal of pagan Greece and Rome; very little of God and religion, but much of nature and science; nothing of faith, but enough of reason. We were trained to avoid superstition, and to be rational, to take it for granted that truth ends where mystery begins, and that what is not comprehensible to the simplest understanding is not worth comprehending. During the four years I was in the university, I acquired a little rhetoric, less logic, a good deal of Greek and Latin, considerable familiarity with the common reading of the history of classical antiquity, some philosophy, such as is collected from Horace and Aristophanes, Plautus and Catullus, -made respectable progress in the physical sciences, mathematics, astronomy, chemistry, &c., and was finally able to graduate with the honors of my class; but totally ignorant of the history of the world from the decline. of classical literature to its revival in the fifteenth century. I had been taught to regard that long period as a blank in human history, or as given up to Popish superstition and monkish ignorance, not worth considering in the general progress of society, or studying in these enlightened days, since Luther has emancipated the mind from its thraldom, and Bacon and Newton have put it on the track of true philosophical investigation.

My associations were classical; my tastes were for Grecian and Roman models; and my moral maxims were derived from pagan moralists, philosophers, and poets. I had no feeling that I was a child of Christian antiquity; I felt my heart beat with a lofty pride that I too was a man, when I read of Leonidas and his Spartans, of Aristides, of the noble old Hannibals and Scipios; but was unmoved at the tale of the early Christian martyrs. The martyrdom of Peter and Paul, of John, of Ignatius, of Justin, Irenæus, Laurence, and so many others, was all a matter of course, the result of the folly of men who chose rather to be crucified, to be cast into the caldron of burning oil, or to the wild beasts in the amphitheatre, than to abandon a crotchet they had got into their heads. These were men of no classical taste; they were unable to appreciate the beauty of Grecian art, or to feel the rich poetry of heathen mythology. I gathered no moral strength from reading the lives and legends of saints and martyrs, written in barbarous monkish Latin, and I never once asked what these saints and martyrs had done for the progress of society. I only saw in them a race of weak and superstitious men and women, who thought more of telling their beads, of kissing the crucifix, of the relics of some old saint who perhaps never lived, than of the noble remains of the classical world, and the treasures of wisdom and poetry they contained. I scoffed at the old Gothic cathedral, but worshipped in the Parthenon.

Thus came I from the university, a bad Christian, and a miserable abortion of a heathen; with no love for Christianity, only an imperfect appreciation of pagan antiquity; and only a tolerable acquaintance with physical science. Yet my father was satisfied, my mother was delighted, and my friends set me down as a young man destined one day to do honor to his alma mater and to his country. Predictions were numerous, hopes ran high. How I have fulfilled them, this narrative, if completed, will tell.

CHAPTER II.

Soon after my return from college, and before I had decided on what profession I would study, I had the misfortune to lose both my father and my mother. They both died, almost on the same day, of a malignant fever. I was left alone in the world. For a long time I was overcome with my loss; sunk in a profound grief, I could take no interest in what was passing around me, and bestow no thought on my own future relations

or movements.

Time and the natural buoyancy of youth, after a while, softened my grief, and I began gradually to recover my self-possession, and the elasticity of my spirits. I still mourned the loss of my parents; I still felt, at times, my loneliness, but I was young, and the world was still new and attractive. But my ambition to hold a distinguished place in society had, however, subsided. The terrible blow had deeply impressed me with the shortness and uncertainty of life, and with the vanity of all human pursuits. I felt that there was nothing worth living for, and that it was better to die, to lie peacefully in the grave, to return to the elements from which I was taken, than to live and struggle on in this vain and transitory world.

This feeling, which I found everywhere expressed by my favorite Greek and Roman poets, suggested the only proper course to be taken; namely, to seize the present moment, to live while I lived, to make the most of what was offered me, and to gather every flower that might bloom along my pathway. Life is short, why waste it in grave cares and tormenting struggles? Life is uncertain, why then reckon on to-morrow? Today is all I can call my own, and for to-day only let me live. A wealthy relative dying just about this time left me, with what I had inherited from my parents, the heir of an ample fortune, adequate to all my wants, and superseding the necessity of any exertion of my own. I resolved to sit down and enjoy life as long as it should last. I would gather around me every luxury my fancy suggested, every pleasure that could be tasted, and my life should glide away smoothly, without other care than that of making the most of the present hour.

I fancied I had no very vicious propensities; I was of a mild and equable disposition, of generous sentiments, of courteous manners, taking no pleasure in seeing or causing pain, and finding no little of my own pleasure in contributing to that of others. I wished well to all men, had no desire to harm a living thing, but merely desired to live and find my own pleasure in my own way. I wished to disturb nobody, and wished nobody to disturb me. My tastes were not coarse and vulgar, but refined. I had great horror of all vulgar sensuality, of all coarse criminals; I must have all in good taste, decorated with the most beautiful creations of art.

With this view, I collected me a splendid library of rare and costly books in elegant bindings; collected also paintings and statuary from the best masters, and arranged every thing about and within my dwelling with the most exquisite taste and

the chastest beauty. Horses, carriages, hounds, and other ministers of pleasure were in harmony with the whole. I had senses for pleasure, a soul for beauty, and I was rarely thwarted in my wishes. What can withstand youth, health, wealth, fine tastes, engaging address, just enough of wit to be piquant, and of sentiment to smooth and polish the whole?

For some few years I led such a life as may be imagined. I was, indeed, no vulgar sensualist; I practised on the principle, that to enjoy the most, and to make the most of life, I must cultivate my whole nature, and be what the Germans call "many-sided." No one taste, appetite, or passion must be allowed to become predominant, but all was to be cultivated in equilibrium; no one was to be indulged to excess, but each to be indulged as near to the point where indulgence ceases to be pleasurable and becomes painful as possible without reaching that point. This was my grand life-plan. Thus I cultivated art and science, became a tolerable proficient in philosophy, and respectable for my literary attainments. There were few subjects on which I might not have been consulted, from the profound mysteries of antique philosophy down to the best breed of dogs or horses, and the proper method of managing them; from the composition of an epic or symphony to the composition of a new dish for dinner; from the construction of a cathedral to the readiest way of dismissing a mistress.

Several years wore away, not without some hollow pleasure; but I found not after all what I craved. My grounds, books, dogs, horses, pictures, statuary, friends, dinners, mistresses, all the most perfect in their kind, were far from always satisfying me. Various as they were, they at times palled and wearied me with their monotony. Sometimes I failed to maintain myself within the prescribed limits. A Margaret or Lilia, with her soft blue eye, sweet smile, guileless heart, and generous confidence, wound herself too closely around the heart, and was not to be dismissed without leaving an unpleasant feeling behind, and causing a little too much perturbation. Not that I cared much for her when fairly gone, but she could not always, without too much effort, be banished from the memory. I contrived, however, to escape pretty generally from all painful reflections, and to sustain myself tolerably well. If I did not attain all the pleasure I might wish, was I not making the most of life? Was I not securing all that so vain and worthless a world as this could be expected to give?

One day, however, as I was meditating on arresting a passion which was engrossing me somewhat too much for my per

« AnkstesnisTęsti »